Bindings
by angelaumbrello
Summary: Catherine/Lady Heather FEMSLASH This takes place at the beginning of The Good the Bad and the Dominatrix, as Lady Heather is being loaded into the ambulance. The whole story is a flashback of Catherine and Lady Heather’s brief obviously A/U liaison.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Bindings**.

**Author: Angela U**

**LJ: angel1972**

**Rating: Teen (for a couple of F words)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.**

**E-mail: CSI**

**Pairing: Lady Heather/Catherine**

**A/N: This takes place at the beginning of **_**The Good the Bad and the Dominatrix**_**, as Lady Heather is being loaded into the ambulance. The whole story is a flashback of Catherine and Lady Heather's brief (obviously A/U) liaison. **

**Special thanks to Debbie for her beta read and title suggestion. **

**Spoiler alert for **_**Slaves of Las Vegas**_

"_Heather? I'm Catherine Willows, I don't know if you remember me."_

_(Catherine Willows, The Good the Bad the Dominatrix)_

Of course I remember you, Catherine Willows. Our time together was short, but the memories, the memories stubbornly remain, even to this day. Even after all this time, your voice, your touch, your eyes, still haunts my dreams.

No matter what, I could never forget you.

I remember the first time you appeared at my Dominion. It was so many years ago that it feels like a lifetime has passed. Maybe it has. You and your colleagues were bewildered; you didn't have a clue at what kind of place this could possibly be. You were like little children lost in a department store, waiting for an adult to lead you to safety. Once you found out where you were, Brass and Grissom looked as if they had each swallowed an egg whole. You, on the other hand, laughed. Was it a nervous response? I don't think so. I think my job appealed to you; it intrigued you thinking of a woman with all that power. You may not have fully understood my occupation, but I could see in your eyes, respect and understanding.

Later on, I told you to your face that you would make a good dominatrix. And I meant it. Had we met in another lifetime, I am certain we would have been the best of friends, partners in every sense of the word. Your response confirmed it. You were flattered, and I knew that I had found a kindred spirit. I'm certain you felt the same way. I could read it in your eyes. The way you smiled at me, the ease in which we spoke of our personal lives.

We were drawn to each other, and when I kissed you over the sink, ran my hands along the curves of your body, it didn't feel wrong, or too fast, or anything except perfect. Your pager broke the spell, you had to return to your lab. You apologized, and then made a hasty retreat.

After the case was over, and my help was no longer needed, I honestly didn't know whether you would return or not. I knew what I felt; I knew what I wanted you to feel.

Was it love? No, it wasn't. Women like us, strong, and independent, are not able to love, at least not romantically. We are like stone statues in Medusa's garden, hard and unyielding. At this point we are only capable of possessing. And right now I wanted to posses you, Catherine. I wanted to top you, bind your hands to my bedposts, taste you, feel you, fuck you.

And given half a chance, I bet you would do the same to me.

Two weeks later you appeared at my door. It was just after 10, and the sun shone brightly overhead, highlighting your hair and making it look as if you were wearing it as a crown. You looked glorious, and exhausted, but determined. Those stormy blue eyes held a world of lust. Already I could feel a sharp ache between my legs. You started to prattle off reasons as to why you had not come by earlier. I silenced you with a raised hand. Excuses and apologies are one and the same to me, just words used too freely, and without any real meaning behind them.

Instead I kissed you, right there on my threshold, where anyone could walk by and see. And even that simple touch was enough to send a wave of heat rolling through my stomach and down to my clit. I knew you felt it too when you moaned into my mouth. It was like an electrical current was passing through our joined bodies forming a conduit. Our breathing, our heartbeats, were falling into sync. I could hear blood rushing in my ears, and for a moment, I wondered if it was mine or yours.

When we pulled apart for air, I took your hand, and led you to my private chambers. Our bodies were pulsating to a primal song that was buried deep within our DNA. It was a song of lust, and desire, and of just wanting to tear the other person's cloths off and fucking them until neither one of you could remember your name.

And that is just what we did for the next couple of hours.

But despite the frenzied nature of our copulation (I refuse to call it making love), I still remember how soft your hair was. How it ran through my fingers like water. I remembered the look in your eyes when I proposed a first hand demonstration in what I do for a living. First there was shock over my proposal, then apprehension, but lust won out in the end, and as you climaxed, there was acceptance.

I remember the taste of your skin, sweet and salty on my tongue. I remember wanting to spend hours between your legs nibbling on your delectable clit (you could only last 90 minutes). I remember the sound of your voice calling my name, begging for release, and the moans and sighs that came before it.

It wasn't all about sex though. Things would have been a lot easier had they remained physical. But you were so easy to talk to, so easy to open up to. You listened to me, but never judged, and most important, you never pitied.

And you were so eager to learn about my world. You sat in rapt attention as I explained the various rituals and symbolisms to you.

And I can admit now, what I couldn't even fathom before; I was lonely.

So in the days and weeks that followed, we had sex. And then as our bodies cooled we talked. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was a woman. Not just a mother or a domme, but a real life flesh and blood woman with wants and desires.

Like I said, it would have been easier had we kept it purely physical. I wouldn't have started looking forward to your visits. And I most definitely wouldn't have missed you when you weren't here.

You with your bewitching smile. You with your haunting blue eyes and lilting voice . . .

I still, to this day, do not understand when or how it happened. It was like a slow poison had managed to make its way into my blood, my brain, my heart. And the more I tried to deny it, to quantify it, or to just brush it aside, the stronger it became, until there came a time when I had to own up to it.

I had fallen in love with you.

I started out wanting to possess you, but in the end, I was possessed by you.

I admit for a time I was angry; angry at you for making me feel this way, and at myself for being vulnerable.

And yet when you stopped visiting, the hurt burned away any anger I may have felt.

I didn't understand, had I done something wrong? Or were you just finished with me? There was no note, or phone call, no anything.

You simply disappeared.

So the question, my dear Catherine, is not whether I remember you. The question is, why? Why did you leave me?

END.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Bindings part two.

Author: angel1972

Feedback Email:

Rating: PG (just to be on the safe side)

Pairing: Catherine/Lady Heather

Fandom: CSI: LV

Fragment: #36 "or you love some man more than me."

Word Count: 1455 (w/o the header)

Summary: A companion piece to Bindings part 1. Catherine's point of view on a doomed romance.

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters, this is done purely for entertainment puposes.

Author's Notes: 1) If you want to archive this story, just tell me.

2) This is a stand alone companion piece to part 1 as opposed to a sequel, so if it's been a while since you read part 1 then you should be okay to read this.

3) I have no idea or if I'll be writing a part 3.

Beta: Thanks and hugs to Margy and Rosie for helping me.

*****

"In the land of memory, the time is now. In the kingdom of ago the clocks tick . . . but their hands never move." Stephen King, Song of Susannah.

*****

Passive suicide.

I don't need a psych degree, or a fancy text book to tell me that.

I'm a mother after all; I understand.

I understand the depths of despair you must have gone through. I understand the anguish and grief that must have fed on you like a school of hungry pirana. Our daughters are everything, the sole focal point of our whole life. They are the reason we get out of bed in the morning, the reason we work, the reason we breathe.

Without them we have nothing; we are nothing.

So it was no surprise that you would attempt suicide. What was surprising was that you needed a second party to do the deed. Was it your rigorous Christian upbringing with edicts against suicide that prevented you from taking your own life? Or did the passivity represent the helplessness you felt, the feeling that you had so little control over your own life? Was hiring someone to kill you the only way for you to regain that vaunted control?

Whatever it was, I can't help but wonder, had I been there, had I not been a coward and abandoned you, would I have been strong enough to anchor you to life? Would I have been reason enough for you to keep going?

I guess I'll never know.

I can still see you standing in the doorway of the Dominion. You were dark and beautiful, and looked as you had just stepped down from Mt. Olympus. For the first time in my life I felt awe toward another human being.

I knew what kind of place the Dominion was, but it didn't matter to me. Though most people would have found your establishment to be distasteful at best, I found my curiosity piqued. I could hear the cries of pain/pleasure and knew that the whole place ran on _your _word. I found along with my awe a kernel of respect was growing. I liked the idea of a woman with all that power; I liked how you made Jim and Gil squirm.

When I returned the next day to inspect masks, I found that something else was growing.

Attraction.

I could feel my pulse quicken, and warmth spread through my chest. There was just something about that moment, the two of us standing in your kitchen chatting away about our work and our daughters that made me see you as more than a domme. And I liked what I saw. I was certain you liked what she saw as well, because one minute you were telling me I'd make a good dominatrix, and the next we were kissing.

It was a perfect first kiss, the kind you dream of, practice for, but never achieve, usually because one or both of you are too nervous or too self-conscious, we were neither. It was . . . natural, and yet it felt almost as if we were under some kind of spell. We were drawn to each other by some invisible force that neither one of us bothered fighting.

The spell was broken when my pager went off. I took what I needed from the sink, and left without even a backwards glance. I didn't know what would have been worse, seeing regret in your eyes or lust.

It took me nearly two weeks to screw up the courage to return. Though there were several times in the median I found myself turning left to your Dominion instead of right to my house, but always something made me correct my course. I think it was fear. Maybe it was of rejection, maybe it was of having read too much into something that was simply heat of the moment. Or maybe, if I were to be honest with myself, it was something about your raw sexuality that gave me pause. I could feel something in me starting to awaken when we kissed, something I had thought was long buried.

Anyway, I ended up on your front stairs. It was after a particularly long and difficult case and I was exhausted. Consciously I was thinking of going home and having a nice long soak in the bathtub; my unconscious on the other hand had other ideas. It was like a string was connecting me and you, it was pulling us together because before I knew it, I found myself knocking on your door. I was nervous and expectant, and I spent the next few moments trying to concoct a believable excuse for my long absence as I waited for you to answer.

I shouldn't have bothered.

I barely had ten words out of my mouth before you were silencing with your hand over my mouth which was quickly replaced with your mouth. It was if no time had passed between kisses, and once again I could feel heat burning through my chest and stomach and settling right between my legs where it was joined by a dull throbbing ache. In my mind I could feel a part of my subconscious rejoice as if it were a long held captive now finally free.

It was only after we pulled apart for air that I became aware that my hands were shaking slightly. I looked into your eyes and there was no mistaken this as heat of the moment. You wanted me; I wanted you.

The trip to your private chambers was a blur. We could have sprouted wings and flown there and I wouldn't have noticed, or remembered. I do remember practically tearing your clothes off; I do remember how you tasted, how you smelt, and how you sounded when you came.

We didn't make love that day, nor any of the following days that I visited. It was lust. It was sex. It was two powerful women who for a brief moment were allowed to lower their guards without fear of what others would think.

And that's how things started going downhill.

I don't know when it happened, or how it happened, it came upon me slowly and insidiously.

In less than six months we had gone from pure sex to something I didn't dare name, but in hindsight knew damn well what it was.

First there was awe, then there was respect, then there was attraction, and then . . . and then there was love.

If it had remained purely physical, things would have been different. They certainly would have been simpler. I would not feel this overwhelming desire to be by your side, nor would I feel guilty because I'm not there, I can't be there. I gave up that right the moment I chose to care about what others would think of my actions.

But you have to understand something, I've worked my whole life to be respectable. It took a lot of effort to bury my old life under the facade of normalcy. I don't smoke, strip, or take drugs. I go to pta meetings (when I can), and I've even baked a cookie or two.

I wanted to be thought of as normal, as just another little drone buzzing about trying to provide for my daughter, something more secure than my mother provided me. I never expected to meet someone like you, or that the walls I built around my old life, my old urges would crumble so easily. I thought they were made of bricks, but in the end it turned out they were made of cards.

And now it's too late to do anything even if I wanted to. I saw you at the park with Gil and Allison. He had his arm around your shoulders and the two of you were watching the toddler. You looked like a real family, it was like a dagger was thrust into my chest. You didn't need me anymore (if you ever did). And even if I could make myself go to you, what would I say? What would I do? Too much time has gone by to simply pick up where we left off. Besides,_ he's _there. And of course out of all the times I chastised him for not having people skills, this is the time he decides to listen to me.

I have no right to anger, and yet I feel my face burn with it. I have no right to jealousy, and yet my eyes I'm certain are a nice shade of green. But mostly I have no right to deny you the support and care of a friend.

And if something should grow, who am I to deny you love?

Even if it's with Gil.

*End.*


End file.
